


Did You Listen?

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Feels, Love, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-07 20:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15916044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Mycroft Holmes disappears. Greg finds him and discovers a part of  the man he never knew existed.





	Did You Listen?

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade had just returned to his office from a more confusing than usual meeting with the chief inspector when his mobile buzzed. No, not his personal mobile, the other phone. The burner.

He found it in his desk one morning with the typed note “Listen for it. You’ll know it when you hear it.”

He did not question it. He knew there was only one reason for its existence. From that day he always kept it on him unless it was being charged. He had walked with it for months without question, today it buzzed to life for the first time with messages.

**39.2238° N, 9.1219° E – Unknown Caller**

**3-5D? Silver 30m – Unknown Caller**

_Mycroft. He has disappeared. He does not want to be found._

Mycroft disappeared once or twice a year. Cut himself off from the world. He completely takes himself off the grid. Even turned off his microchip, much to Anthea’s chagrin. The British Government tells no one when he leaves and no one knows where he goes, nor when he is coming back. It has never been more than five days, but there was always the possibility. By the time it is realized he has gone, no one can track him. Lestrade learned by accident only Sherlock can contact him, but he has never been privy to Mycroft’s location. Even he respects his elder brother enough to not ask and certainly not to disturb him when he goes through such lengths to do so. Only once did Sherlock break the silence. It took a terrorist bombing in the Tube for that to happen and by then Mycroft was already in London.

After knowing each other for years peripherally as his contact to help keep tabs on Sherlock Holmes, Greg and the elder Holmes brother had slowly begun a friendship separate from it.

“You know Mycroft, were to you call and meet with me because you wanted to and not under the guise of a Sherlock status update, you would find I’d not object to it.” Greg surprised the enigmatic man at the end of one such meeting, leaving the ball in his court. It took two weeks, but Mycroft did pick up the ball. That was nearly two years ago. They have secretly dated since. Only those closest to them were told when it progressed to something more intimate between them. Not that Sherlock gave them much of a choice having figured it out within twenty-four hours. He was of course an utter bastard about it, bringing both of them to Baker Street to gloat at the discovery and yet take the credit for their meeting, of course. And also, being totally within his character, Sherlock sent a text to both of them simultaneously when Mycroft left for a meeting, dropping Greg off at NSY on the way.

**He is really happy. Thank you. Don’t be stupid and let him get away. – SH.**

Not that either had asked for it, but they understood beneath the facade that they had his blessing.

This was the first disappearance since they’ve been an official couple that Mycroft has invited him to join. He felt honored.

Greg looked at his watch. He had less than 30 minutes to be ready. He gave it all less than three seconds of thought when he walked out of his office and locked it. Having suspected this event could happen he went to Sally Donovan’s desk, glad she was still on the premises and not out on a case. They chatted about a case as he placed a note down: _Time Out for 5 <30_. In response she drew an arrow with a heart as the arrowhead and turned it toward the exit. He smiled and simply walked away. 

_I must be crazy. Am I really just dropping everything to leave for five days like this? For him?_

_Of course, I am._

30 minutes later a silver sedan pulled up to the curb before him. Lessons learned the hard way about getting into strange cars, he did not move. The driver’s window rolled down. The hook to Wings _Listen to What the Man Said_ was beginning to play. Greg could not help but grin as he got in the sedan.

_Okay, Myc I heard it. I’ll listen._

Once he was in the car he turned off his personal mobile totally. He used the burner to look up the coordinates and blinked in surprise at the destination.

Several hours later as the plane landed at an airport on an island in the Mediterranean Sea. He still questioned his sanity and still arrived at the same answer as a different silver sedan picked him up on the tarmac. This driver played Belinda Carlisle’s _Listen To Love_. He shook his head at it wondering how much music Mycroft suffered through to pick just the right songs. Greg knows it was all done for his benefit.

_I’m still listening._

It had recently stopped raining. The sky was overcast but brightening in what was left of the late sun. He enjoyed the view as the vehicle made its way through old streets. The more they rode the more excited and yet more nervous Greg became. He still could not believe he just dropped everything as he had, but really what else would he have done for the man?

_That and so much more._

The car pulled up to charming villa. He exited the sedan and it pulled away without waiting. The door was slightly ajar. Every instinct told him it was done on purpose, still he rang the bell, just in case. The series of bells barely finished echoing inside when a stout older woman answered the door.

“Oh my! You _are_ as handsome as he says Signore Lestrade!” She gasped in delight, then blushed profusely, “Oh! Forgive me, he has never had company here before, I am honored to meet you. I am Adelita Melis, the housekeeper for your stay.”

“Signorina Adelita, call me Greg, please. I doubt there is anyone who cannot help but be complimented by such an honest outburst. Grazie!” Greg grinned completely charmed to the core as she opened the door wider and he stepped in.

“Oh, charmer! My bambinas have not been signorinas in a long time. I have not been one for even more, I know this well. Come, let me have your coat. If you are Greg, then I am Lita please. Signore is upstairs, he said you are to go up. I will bring refreshments soon. The spiral stairs on the other side of courtyard will take you straight to his studio.”  She held out her hand for his trench which he laughingly gave the woman who then hurriedly shooed him away.

_So, did she say studio?_

The home was a beautiful eclectic mix.  Old, richly decorated sat with expensive elegant upholstery in light, neutral shades and natural materials that made an excellent backdrop to the olive, terracotta, blue and lavender accents. There were hints of Old World, Mediterranean, Italian and Moorish décor all about. Sophisticated restraint and tradition evoked a feeling of tranquility, coziness and pleasant home comfort. Lovely artwork decorated the walls. One he realized was a portrait of what had to be Sherlock as a child. He had never seen photos of the detective as a child, but the eyes in the cherubic face wearing a pirate hat were uncanny. It had to be him. This house was so very different from the staunch rich detachment of the England home, yet no less elegant for its comfort.  If Lita had not greeted him by name he knew for sure he was in the right place as Mycroft’s preferred classical music accompanied him up the spiral staircase.

If the main floor had surprised Greg, the actual studio itself floored him. Blank and color filled canvases were strewn about. Seeing the painting style Greg realized some of the artwork adorning the walls of the villa where done here. Mostly still life and landscapes. Only a hand full were portraits. Some were done in pencil, some in ink, others in watercolor. Currently, the artist was working in oil paints.

This room was indeed a studio, one that has been in use for many years. Natural light flowed in through the floor to ceiling wall of windows. The scents of linseed, paint oils and the canvases themselves wafted about. A section of a wall held supplies. Pads, pencils, various brushes, palettes, duck cloth and other things his brain could not quite name, but certainly belonged in an artist’s studio lined it. And of course so many tubes upon tubes of paint that a variable rainbow of colors was before him.

He walked around and stood in front of a large canvas. On closer inspection he realized it was a quadriptych. Four canvases held together in the back with bar clamps to keep them immobile across their easels as one. The beginnings of a bucolic scene was lightly sketched out in non-photo pencil, but not yet complete, patiently waited to be worked on. On a table a color sketch of two disembodied male hands touching caught his attention. He knew the hands were his and Mycroft’s.

Though he stood in the midst of it, Greg could not believe what was before him. He was simply spell bound by it all.

_Mycroft is an artist. A damned good one at that!_

The artist himself stood by a floor to ceiling glass door that led to a balcony. He stood with his back to the studio allowing Greg to peruse at his leisure. Hands in his pockets, he was clad in chinos and a denim shirt as he gazed through the rain-streaked window to the courtyard and the rest of the villa on the other side. He was relaxed; relaxed in a way he rarely is at the London mansion. This was a Mycroft Holmes Greg had never seen before. In this house the Iceman cometh not. Without turning around Mycroft lifted his arms as if to ask _well_?

“Lita said you have never had company here before. Yet, you have spoken to her of me.” overwhelmed and overjoyed Greg broke the silence.

“That is true. She has no idea who I truly am. To her I am the minor government official who lucked into some money and bought this place. No one other than Lita and her husband Matteo and his brother, Cristian who maintain the house and grounds even know that much. To the rest in this city, who rarely see me, I am the artist who comes here a couple of times a year to paint, to relax and to not be disturbed by the world. We artists are temperamental like that.” Mycroft sniffed lightly at that, “Yes, Lita has a way of drawing things out of a person when she’s determined. She knew you existed, and that I loved you before I did. I missed you immensely during a visit here over a year ago. Apparently, it showed. She told me when I was last here and still had not brought you to see this place  “How can you say you give him all your heart when you have not shown him all?””

Greg half smiles at Mycroft’s perfect imitation of Lita's delightful accent.

“I… I don’t know what to say, My… This is amazing. I was so honored that you had let me into your life, your love, as much as you had, but this…? I’ve seen you doodle on occasion. Still, I never suspected this part of you existed. And to see it in all its fruition…” He spreads his out similarly as Mycroft had moments ago, “Lita was right. I needed to see this.”

Greg realizes this is Mycroft’s heart. Colorful and light, a part of his heart that he only allows himself to give in to it a couple of time a year. It is a part of his heart that he has kept away from everyone including his own brother.

_Everyone but me. He has just shown me everything of him. Now that I know it, he can give it all whenever he wants._

Mycroft turned to face him at last and took a step into the room. He opened his arms again and slowly raised them indicating the room, the villa, everything. “I asked you to listen, Gregory. Did you?”

Greg had never seen Mycroft look so strong and yet so vulnerable. 

“And love is fine for all we know  
For all we know, our love will grow  
That's what the man said” Greg steps to Mycroft quoting Wings _Listen to What the Man Said_.

A shy smile begins to curl the corner of Mycroft’s lip as he also takes a step closer.

Greg picked up the sketch of their touching hands then quotes Belinda Carlisle’s _Listen To Love_.

“Open up your heart, listen to love  
The stuff that dreams are made of   
Oh and if one touch  
Can reveal so much  
Don't you know we've got to listen to love.”

“I listened. You love me.” Greg places the sketch down and reaches out taking Mycroft’s hands into his. He smiles at the small spot of bright blue paint on Mycroft’s hand that did not quite wash off. He brings the hand to his lips and kisses the spot. “Now ask me.”

“You have listened.” Mycroft grins as his hands find their place on Greg’s hips and pulls him close. “I love you, Gregory Lestrade. Will you marry me?”

“You already know the answer. Now listen to me.” His head cocks to the side to indicate the sketch again, the sketch of the touching hands. Their touching hands. Their touching hands wearing wedding rings. Greg closes the minute amount of space left between them, taking Mycroft into his arms for a kiss. “I love you too, Mycroft Holmes. Yes.”


End file.
